Learning To Fly
by Miss Hanamura
Summary: "One day, he'll realize that this isn't a dream." — Superhero AU, Yosuke-centric. Apart of a 40-minute challenge with Ari Moriarty.


A/N: Ahhhh, so I wanted to upload this now, after I had a dream about it, reminding me of it's existance owo; Sorry, Ari, if you haven't finished your Chie piece yet, or if this was supposed to be a collaboration (I don't remember...). If it was, I can always whip up another Yosuke drabble. They come pretty easily for me~

* * *

_When he was younger—and before he decided that it was childish, and that he had long since grown up—he dreamt about being a hero, saving princess from towers, slashing through creatures like tissue paper, recognized, and adored by all. Silly fantasies he cut, and pasted himself into because reality wasn't like his dreams. It was boring, and dull, and humdrum (there was nothing to do; he had no friends, no place to vent, and everyone remembered him as "that one kid who sleeps in class"). He craved adventure, something to ignite the fire burning in his chest._

_He was sick of this town._

_For awhile, he was alone on his journey of chasing fantasies—so lonely, and endless—things that kept him grounded, and held his interest._

_That was, until he found his princess in his neighbors' daughter, Saki Konishi—an older girl with curly, light brown locks, slitted grey eyes, and a hourglass frame._

_He remembers sitting in his backyard beside her (she looked like something out of a storybook that day, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, chest moving up, and down as she breathes), making pictures out of stars._

_His favorite way to pass the time._

_"You're crazy, Hana-chan," She says out of the blue, a controlled smile across her lips (but he misses it; he always did)._

_He grins, and lets out a little laugh (but it sounds uncomfortable on his end), "Yeah, well," He lies back, his arms behind his head, "I'm gonna get outta here. Just you wait~"_

* * *

His superpower is that he can fly.

He's the only one on the team who doesn't wear a mask (because he thinks he has nothing to hide, and there are moments where he feels like this is where he needs to be).

Chie's cells are super-charged, it's like she never gets tired; Yukiko dances, flames swirl around her like flower petals, and people fall down; at the same time, wounds are stitched together with her touch. Kanji is a tank—superhuman strength; he sheds off damage like it doesn't even hurt. Rise is a siren—her voice is her weapon; she can see through walls with sound waves, generate sonic screams. Like Yukiko, Teddie manipulates the elements, painting the field with blizzards, and ice. Naoto and Yu are telepathic, move objects with their mind (can give each other a single look, and know what the other is thinking; it freaks Yosuke out the first time he sees it).

And he _flies_. Somehow, he feels the least impressive.

* * *

"What's it like? To fly, I mean," Chie asks him once over a bowl of cereal, curious brown eyes boring into his own. He strums his fingers to a random beat on the table, searching for the right words.

It's beautiful and exhilarating—he feels free, like he's not just part of the scenery back at home; the sky melts under him, and the birds sing, and his laughter rings through the trees.

Up there in the sky where no one can touch him (no one can see him fall between the cracks).

"It's pretty cool, I guess," He finally says, shrugging his shoulders.

One day, he'll realize that this isn't a dream.

* * *

_Sometimes, Yosuke wishes he can fly away (he rests his head on his school desk, cranks the volume up on his MP3 player—all white noise, and slow songs he can't really dance to, but it's okay). He stares out windows instead of doing homework, watches cotton candy clouds play behind his eyelids._

_He dreams up fairy tales with ever afters (made for him), and friends that never leave; they carry him away on white wings._

_Stirs awake when the teacher asks him a question (but he wasn't paying attention again)._

_(This town is suffocating him. When he inhales, all he can taste is imperfections, and the disappointment he brings; it's sticky, and coats his lungs, coats his insides, making it hard to breathe.)_

_Reality slips from his fingers._

_(He is a normal boy sitting in a normal classroom pretending to be a hero. There's no cape here. No wind threading through his hair.)_

* * *

Figuring out what's real, and what's not becomes harder each day.


End file.
